The Bright Side
by athenaharmony
Summary: After a serious Quidditch accident lands Harry in St. Mungo's, he sees a chance to look at the brighter side of things. The question is, will he take it, or will it pass him by as he returns to Hogwarts?


The Bright Side – Chapter 1

Posted 3 December 2011

A/N – To those kind souls who have read my work and left such nice reviews for me: yes, it's been forever since I've posted anything, but I swear I've been at work almost every day, word-vomiting onto my computer screen as much as I can and attempted to ignore the mocking blinking of my cursor. This little bit of writing is the result of one of those word-vomit sessions, and there is more to come. Also, "What Friends Are For" has not been abandoned (I swear), and I'm hoping to get to the good part soon. That said, I'll stop rambling now and let you actually get to the fan fiction! Happy holidays.

The sun was warm on Harry's face as he sat atop his Firebolt. A light breeze blew around him, ruffling his crimson robes and making his hair feel even more disordered than usual as it gently pushed a cluster of faraway puffy white clouds across a blue sky. He hovered just a little bit higher than the rings on either end of the Quidditch pitch, enjoying the freedom of flying on such a beautiful day. It did not seem strange that the pitch was deserted, the stands and staff members' boxes standing empty, free of the usual horde of screaming fans and politely applauding—or even more enthusiastically screaming, he thought as an image of Professor McGonagall came to mind—teachers. He was simply a content sixteen-year-old boy on his beloved broomstick, drinking in the sun and wind of a warm autumn day in his favourite place on Earth.

Something buzzed past his face abruptly and he blinked confused green eyes at it before he recognized the Golden Snitch. He did not remember letting it out of its box, but he grinned all the same and leaned forward to urge the Firebolt to move, never taking his eyes off of the speck of glittering gold as it whizzed its way towards the rings.

_Easy_, he thought happily as he chased the winged golden walnut up, down, and around the pitch. He spiralled up with it and felt the air cool as he climbed above even the staff members' boxes, dived after it and brushed the toes of his trainers over the lush green grass of the pitch. The Snitch was a slow one, not at all like the one he had been up against in his last match, and it glided through the air like a hot knife through butter, without a hint of the surprising jerking motion of a challenging Snitch. He could have caught it in a moment or two, but he eased off on his Firebolt a little and simply let his adversary go for a while, relishing the sensation of a leisurely flight on a pretty day and the satisfaction of knowing that he could pick the Snitch right out of the air whenever he pleased.

He was debating whether to reach for the Snitch or not when a high-pitched whistling sounded from behind him. He frowned and turned his head, breaking his concentration on the Snitch for the first time. He hoped that Madam Hooch had not turned up to spoil his fun. Behind him, he saw, the blue sky had turned grey and the puffy white clouds were suddenly thick, heavy with the threat of a downpour. The empty pitch behind him revealed no clear source of the whistling, however, and he shrugged and turned back to the Snitch, only to find that it had disappeared. He sighed and slowed his broomstick, turning in a slow circle as he scanned the darkening sky for a glimmer of gold. Madam Hooch may not have caught him yet, but she would sacrifice one of the ancient and knobby school Cleansweeps in an instant to wallop him if she found out that he had lost the costly Snitch. The whistling had not stopped, but he had no time to figure out where it was coming from, not when the Snitch was gone and he could feel tiny drops of cool rain splattering on his cheeks. The gentle breeze picked up suddenly and became frigid, making his teeth chatter and bringing a swift end to his happy mood. He pressed his Firebolt forward and scanned the pitch more quickly. The thing could not be any further away than the boundaries of the pitch, he reasoned; there were charms on it for that specific purpose.

The whistling grew louder and more insistent as he searched for the Snitch. It sounded like wind gusting through trees, Harry thought vaguely, beginning to feel a little worried. The rain was picking up, but he could not go back to the castle until the Snitch was safely put away in its box. The water lashed against his glasses, plastering his hair to his head and, worse, blinding him. He had to rely on his memory of the pitch to avoid colliding with the staff members' boxes or the unforgiving metal rings. After a close call in which he nearly lost several teeth, he stopped his broomstick just above the centre ring and wondered if it might be better to take refuge in one of the staff members' boxes and wait out the weather before he continued to look for the Snitch. He was about to lean forward and fly up to the nearest tower when the whistling suddenly sounded only a few feet from his ear. He twisted his head around and barely had time to understand what the black ball flying at him was before the mercilessly solid Bludger took him full in the chest, carrying him off of his Firebolt as it mulishly continued on its way. It pushed him all the way to the staff members' box in which he had meant to wait before it slammed him against the tower's wooden side, giving his head a good crack against the hard surface, and then abruptly changed course, spiralling away into the sky. He was left flailing painfully in the air for only a second before gravity took hold and pulled him down, down, down…

Harry woke with a jerk and a gasp in the dark. He tried to sit up, but his chest was on fire. It had been a dream, just a dream, but the pain had not gone away. It felt as though a million malevolent bees were stinging him at once, and he clenched his teeth against it with a pained groan.

Beside him, he heard something move and tried to turn his head to see what it was, but he found that his body did not want to respond to his commands. The world spun momentarily with the effort.

Suddenly, someone's hand was in his, squeezing.

"Harry," a familiar voice whispered in the dark. "Oh, Harry, you're awake!"

"'Mione?" he managed. His tongue felt thick and clumsy, and he felt a fresh stab of hot agony in his chest as he forced the word out.

"Yes," the voice assured him. "Yes, Harry, it's me."

He wanted to see her, wanted to see a familiar face, but his head screamed in protest when he tried to move again.

"No, Harry, stay still," she said gently. "You're hurt; you need to stay still."

He had figured that much out for himself.

"Hurts," he said, working to not let the word come out as a whimper.

"Oh, dear, of course it does," she said. She sounded a little flustered. "Hold on, okay? I've called the Healers; they'll give you something to help it. Here they are, look," she added, and he heard the sound of several pairs of feet moving into the room before a shockingly bright light flashed in front of his face, making him shut his eyes in the interest of self-preservation. Someone took a firm hold of his chin and tipped a measure of some kind of hot potion down his throat. He coughed and felt some of the liquid trickle down his chin, but the wave of relief that washed over him was wonderful enough to make him light-headed.

"You might have been a little gentler," he heard Hermione mutter reproachfully, but no one seemed to pay her any mind. He smiled slowly. It was nice of her to worry about him, but she had no reason to. He felt fantastic, and very grateful to whoever had given him that potion.

"Mr. Potter," a voice that was not Hermione's called. "Mr. Potter, we need you to open your eyes now."

Harry, having forgotten the blinding light, was happy to comply. The brightness slapped him across the face once again and he made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat as he tried to turn away from it, blinking. The room tilted dangerously with the effort and he forced himself to look back at the light. At least it allowed him to stay on a level floor, even though it hurt his eyes.

"There, now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the voice asked. It was a man's voice, Harry realized as he squinted at the unforgiving light. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the brightness and he was able to open his eyes fully, though it did nothing to help his blurry vision.

"Pupils are responding well," the male voice observed.

Harry was relieved as the light moved away from him, but it plunged his world into a profound darkness, which he found confusing.

"How do you feel, son?" the voice inquired. Harry wanted to answer, but his tongue felt even thicker and more unwieldy than before.

"He probably won't answer you for a while yet," another man's voice said from somewhere on his left. "That potion is enough to knock a giant on his arse—sorry, Miss—for a minute or two."

"Uh-huh," Harry added helpfully, doing his best to nod. He managed to tilt his head down a little, but he did not have the energy to raise it again.

"Well, all right," the first man's voice said, sounding amused. "He seems to be doing well, in any case, especially since he's woken up."

Harry smiled again, pleased. It was not every day that one was praised simply for waking up, after all.

"Are you certain?" Hermione asked. "He's still in an awful lot of pain…"

"Part of that is the mending," the second Healer's voice assured her. "His vitals are all good, and he's awake. I'd say he's been through the worst of it at this point."

"Uh-huh," Harry added happily. He felt Hermione's hand squeeze his again, gently.

"Well, if you think so, Harry," she said.

"We'll leave him to rest, then," the first Healer said. "Miss Granger, you know what to do."

"If anything changes, I'll call you," she said. "I know. Thank you."

Harry heard footsteps leaving the room and the soft click of a door being closed. He smiled when he felt Hermione run a thumb over his knuckles. He was glad that she was still there.

"Do you know where you are, Harry?" she asked gently. "Do you know what happened to you?"

He mustered the energy to shake his head slowly, focussing very hard on keeping the world level as he did so.

"Well," Hermione said, "you had a bit of a Quidditch accident a few days ago. It was raining, you know, and I suppose you couldn't see-"

"Bludger," Harry muttered.

"Yes, that's right," she replied, and he felt soft fingertips brush through his fringe. It was comforting. "Yes, you took a Bludger to your chest. It pushed you right off of your broom, too, and you hit the teachers' tower before you fell." The fingers brushed over his fringe and forehead again, a little shakily. "It happened too quickly for Dumbledore to stop you this time, I'm afraid, and the fall knocked you out cold."

"Hospital wing?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes, I suppose you want to know where you are," she said. He was beginning to very much enjoy the gentle adjustment and readjustment of his fringe. "No, Harry, it's not the hospital wing. You're at St. Mungo's. You've had Healers taking care of you for the past three days."

He yawned, satisfied. "Okay."

She brushed his fringe once more.

"I suppose you're tired," she said.

It occurred to him that he still had not seen her face. The room was too dark. He wondered what time it was as he nodded again.

"Go to sleep, Harry," she said in the darkness. "You need your rest. I'll try to be here when you wake up, but if I'm not, I promise I'll be back, okay?"

He frowned.

"Leaving?" he asked unhappily. He gathered up the strength to squeeze her hand for the first time, hoping to keep her at his side with the effort. He heard a soft creak and, to his surprise, felt soft lips replace her fingers on his forehead as she gave him a light kiss.

"Not yet," she assured him as the creaking sounded again. He realized that she must be sitting in a chair at his bedside. "It's two o'clock in the morning," she explained, and he heard her yawn softly. "I'll need to go back to school in a few hours, though."

Harry was unsatisfied. He wanted his best friend at his side while he slept in this unfamiliar place.

"Stay?" he asked. She squeezed his hand.

"Oh, Harry, by this point you must know that I'd be here day in and day out if I could, but Dumbledore's bending the rules about as far as they'll go just by letting me leave school grounds alone," she explained. "You know how the Ministry's been watching him lately. The least I can do is show up for my classes, don't you think?"

Harry frowned again. She was right, he realized grudgingly. He did not want Dumbledore to get into trouble with the Ministry again. Still, it was so nice to hear Hermione's familiar, comforting voice in the darkness, and he would be sad to know that she might not be with him when he woke again.

"Miss you," he offered. He smiled when she gave him another kiss on the forehead. He was not accustomed to such attention from Hermione, but it was far from unpleasant.

"I'll miss you too," she assured him, "and I'll come back as soon as I can. Go to sleep for me now, okay? We both need some rest."

"Okay," he agreed. He was awfully tired. "G'night."

"Goodnight, Harry," she said, and a final brush of her fingertips over his forehead proved to be enough to send him off into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
